


Exchange

by unseelieCollapsar



Category: One Piece
Genre: Banter, Death Wish, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unseelieCollapsar/pseuds/unseelieCollapsar
Summary: A little exchange in med bay, and the aftermath of the War.
Relationships: Portgas D. Ace/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Exchange

Ace plopped down on your bed in the infirmary and held a bottle of whisky out over your head. Stirring against the bandages, you strained to lift a hand. But when you'd nearly grabbed it, he pulled backed and chugged the beverage. 

"Patients don't drink," he taunted with that cocky grin you could never wipe off.

"Neither should visitors!" Marco scolded, four beds over, tending to a broken leg.

A chuckle shook out of your lungs in jagged coughs, soon mellowing into hiccups. "Idiot," you muttered.

"Me?" A disbelieving hand to his chest, eyebrows high. "Have you seen yourself?" He knocked on your cast. "When'll you learn not to charge at opponents greater than yourself?"

"Can't know who's greater," you paused for a sandpaper inhale, "till I face 'em."

Eyes rolling up, he flicked your forehead. "Is there even a brain in there?" With a finger pointed at you and another swig of alcohol. "Most people can tell just fine when they're gonna get beaten to a pulp."

"You're one to talk." A muscle beneath your ribs twinged but soon adjusted to your speaking. "You tried to fight pops."

"I was young and dumb."

"Six months ago?"

Maimed in his pride, Ace turned away from you with a solemn huff. You couldn't help a giggle, quiet and shallow. After a few dramatic seconds, he conceded to face you again, first darting an eye towards you, then following with his whole body.

"But seriously." His voice dropped to a gloomy murmur, as his head hung lower, fingers woven, gaze set on yours. "Please stop. Some day you won't make it out of med bay and — and I don't know what I'll do."

You half-smiled, half-shrugged. "That'd be sweet. I want a warrior's death."

"You're so selfish." Then, after a guilty silence: "Why?"  
"Like on Elbaf, remember? I wanna die fighting and protecting my crewmates."

"Some protection you provide, stuck in a hospital bed." He reclined in his chair, swinging his legs over the edge of your bed and arms behind his head. A hum and musing. "I'd like to die old. With everyone else around me."

"Lame." You would've tossed a dismissive hand up, were you not bound in bandages. Instead you tugged at the fabric, tightening it sorely around your biceps. Undignified yelp, then a humph to compose yourself again. "I mean, you'd deserve it, though."

"Is that an insult or...?" He raised a puzzled brow.

"Alright kiddos," Marco butted in, pulling Ace away. "Y/N's gotta go under for surgery, so put the banter on hold."

☆

When everybody, from former crewmates to begrudgingly respectful enemies, had cleared the island, you finally set foot on Ace's last place of rest. Though Marco had set up an elegant decor with memorabilia galore, you opted to bring your own gifts. Little souvenirs to part. And a candle, in case he needed light. He wouldn't have his own anymore.

You contemplated the carved rock, the letters so carefully chiselled by friends who'd never held a chisel before, until their meaning blurred. Those lines and curves twisted, no longer a human script, becoming pure memory and sentiment.

You blinked many times, trying to restitute significance to A-C-E, hoping in vain it might keep tears at bay.

"So, just like that, huh?" You poked at his tombstone with the tip of your boot, as though knocking on his door, entertaining the foolish hope some ghost might answer. "You stole my death." Pause, gulping down, sniffling. Trying to see if clearing your sinuses might clear your mind. No such luck. "I'll take yours, then. Hope you don't mind."

You scratched a match over and over along the side of its box, sparks dropping and dying on the recently-moved soil. Not a flame, not even embers. Cold stones were all you had left, and a candle you couldn't light.


End file.
